


By My Beard

by errandofmercy



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Beard Braiding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1203514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errandofmercy/pseuds/errandofmercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of Helm's Deep, Legolas cares for Gimli. He gets more out of the bargain than is immediately apparent. One-shot, fluff, skirting the edge of pre-slash. Written for Day 2 of Gigolas Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By My Beard

“Hold still-” Legolas said softly, reaching for the bloodied bandage wrapped around the Dwarf’s head. Though the Elf had emerged from the battle largely unscathed, his fair face was furrowed with concern at the sight of Gimli’s wound.

“Will you cut that out?” Gimli roared, swatting him away with an armored hand. The injury still smarted and stung - the last thing he needed was to have the meddling Elf fiddling with it. “It’s my own head; I can see to it! Go bother the real wounded, why don’t you?” 

Legolas narrowed his eyes but did not move away. “Would you rather the blood congeal and the healers be forced to shave your head and beard?” he asked, his voice a menacing lilt. Gimli frowned so hard the bandage shifted down over his eyebrow, which earned him a decidedly smug look from Legolas. Wordlessly, the Elf began to unravel the soiled wrappings, taking care not to snag any of the Dwarf’s multitudinous hairs. As the cool air met the raw flesh of the wound, Gimli stiffened. Legolas looked bleakly at the mass of slimy, half-dried blood that now covered one side of the Dwarf’s head. 

“Well, laddie,” Gimli said in a strained voice, “how does it look?”

“The wound itself is not as bad as I feared,” the Elf replied hesitantly, “but the mess has claimed a good portion of your hair…” Remorse crept across his face. “I must apologize for my jest, friend Dwarf. It appears you may yet have to be relieved of it.” 

Gimli cringed openly at that. The pain and dizziness he felt was manageable, but to be shorn like a mangy animal? Among his people it was cause for deepest shame. “Are you sure?” he asked in disbelief.

Legolas regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then a small smile warmed his features. “I have an idea,” he said, “but I do not wish to tax your strength so early. Can you walk?” 

Gimli struggled gruffly to his feet, caught as he wavered by the Elf’s steady hands. “For my beard, I will find a way,” he huffed, and the two made their way slowly to the edge of the battle’s aftermath. 

***

“Is it much longer, laddie?” Gimli asked breathlessly. “I’m starting to feel a bit woozy-” 

Legolas caught him just in time, armor and leather clattering together in a muffled din. “The stream I was making for is half a league from here,” he answered. “I am sorry, my friend.” 

Gimli plopped himself down on the grass, trying to tune out the ringing in his ears. The pain in his head had reached such a height that he was afraid of fainting, though he would never admit it. “Maybe if I can rest a moment…” he ground out through clenched teeth. Legolas folded his long legs beneath him and sat patiently at his side. A few long moments later, Gimli’s head had stopped spinning and he felt ready to rise. “Alright, lad,” he began, but to his surprise, the Elf merely crawled before him, turned his back, and knelt.

“Please, Gimli,” Legolas said, holding his arms back toward the Dwarf, “I will carry you the rest of the way. I do not wish for my attempts at healing to worsen your condition.” 

After some blustering protest, Gimli finally agreed, and clambered up as gracefully as he could onto the Elf’s back. Legolas hooked his arms beneath Gimli’s legs and hoisted him up without a sound. Carefully he made for the stream, doing his best not to jostle the Dwarf too much. 

At last they reached a small brook, strewn with moss-covered stones and gurgling pleasantly. Legolas set Gimli gently down at the water’s edge, on a stone that lay half in the water and was cushioned with a thick bed of moss. “You are heavier than you look!” he said with a laugh. The Elf stripped off his boots and waded in to fill Gimli’s canteen with cool, fresh water. The Dwarf drank lustily, rivulets of water coursing down his beard and splattering onto the rocks. He finished with a satisfied sigh. “That’s a good deal sweeter than the stale sludge in the fortress’ well!” he exclaimed. “Tasted more like dust than water.”

“I know it was a long journey to make with your injury,” Legolas admitted, “but I hoped it would be a pleasant respite. I also thought you might enjoy a bit of solitude after the clamor of battle.” Without warning, he reached for Gimli’s boots, tugging them gently off and placing them on the dry shore. “Come and soak your feet,” he said gently as he guided Gimli’s forelegs into the stream. The Dwarf regarded him with some surprise, but the cool current felt so heavenly that his reticence was soon forgotten.

Legolas lay down his small pack on a nearby stone and retrieved a fresh bandage, herbs and some scraps of cloth. With a feathery touch, he removed the sticky bandage and tossed it aside. The strain of travel had caused the gash on Gimli’s forehead to swell, but fortunately the patch of clotting blood had not broken apart. Gingerly he began to wash the area around the wound, pulling away the alluvium and rescuing the imperiled strands of hair. His work was methodical and slow, but Gimli did not mind - the flowing water between his toes and the gentle tingle of Legolas’ fingers combing through his scalp were a pleasant respite after the battle. The closeness of the Elf’s nimble form, even the feeling of his breath on Gimli’s ear, made him feel comforted and drowsy. He did not realize he had begun snoring until the Elf’s tinkling laughter woke him. 

“Do you find my company so dull, Master Dwarf?” Legolas joked. “Or have I soothed you to sleep with my ministrations?” 

Gimli harrumphed. “I think the slaying of forty-three Orcs deserves a catnap, you silly Elf.”

“Forty-two,” Legolas corrected. “In any case, I hope you are pleased with the result. How does your head feel?” 

Gimli blinked. He had scarcely noticed that the throbbing pain was all but gone. “By my beard,” he exclaimed with a grin. “What on earth have you done to me, lad?” 

Legolas gave a small smile. “It is only a poultice of Athelas and some herbs from the Woodland Realm. Your beard, I fear, is another story.” Dipping his hands in the water, Legolas briskly rinsed away the blood and dirt that had come from the old bandages. Then he came close to Gimli, his bright blue eyes alight with a sudden intensity. 

“I do not wish to violate the customs of your people,” the Elf said solemnly, motioning towards the tangled mass that spread from beneath the Dwarf’s nose to halfway down his stomach. “But, if you would have me, I would like to… restore it to its former splendor.” His gaze was expectant, and heavy with meaning. Gimli’s eyes widened in surprise.

“To touch the beard of a Dwarf,” Gimli said in a low voice, “is a rare and special thing. For us it is more intimate than a kiss.” He looked hard at the Elf that knelt before him, up to his knees in the cool water. As he searched Legolas’ gaze, comprehension trickled into his mind like the stream’s gentle flow over his tired feet.

Legolas bowed his head, the ends of his silky blond hair dipping beneath the water’s surface and trailing away downstream. “I know,” he said, almost too softly to be heard over the rustle of trees and distant birds. “I hoped that you would sense it as I tended your wounds. My sentiment is true, friend Dwarf. If you would have me, I would like very much to do so.” 

Gimli reached out tentatively and took the Elf’s hand, his mind racing with a thousand questions. He dismissed them as he had the pounding in his head - there would be time for discussion later. Now as he looked into the Elf’s crystal-blue eyes, full of fear and desire as he had never seen them before, he could only think to draw that pale hand toward him and place it wonderingly on his own cheek. Happiness bloomed in Legolas’ gaze, as bright and promising as a blossom of simbelmynë. 

Gimli’s eyes fell closed as he felt the Elf’s fingers caress his face and stroke his beard down to its feathered end. With reverent care, Legolas began to undo the braids that had become disheveled and frayed, loosening the tufts of hair and smoothing them out with fresh water. He combed delicately from Gimli’s chin to his belly, tenderly tracing the outlines of cheekbone, nose, mouth, and neck until Gimli felt his blood begin to quicken. Legolas inched closer to him, until he knelt between the Dwarf’s spread legs, their bodies tantalizingly close. A sigh of appreciation from his companion confirmed his earnest hope that the sentiment was mutual. 

Together they wove Gimli’s liberated hair into a stately latticework of plaits and polished golden beads. By the end of it, Gimli was so relaxed and pacified that he could scarcely move. He was also quite glad that Dwarven armor was heavily padded in the groin, lest his delight in the Elf’s attentions be too obvious. But as he watched Legolas secure the final bead that dangled above his belt, his bright eyes clouded with desire, he wondered if perhaps showing his own eagerness would have been such a bad idea. He leaned forward from his perch and gently cupped the Elf’s face in his palm - it was startlingly hot to the touch. Legolas looked up, a blush upon his fair cheeks, and a look of longing upon his face. 

“You’ve done well, laddie,” Gimli said huskily. “I hope I can return the favor somehow…” 

Legolas gave a resigned smile. “I am sorely tempted,” he replied, his voice unusually low, “but I will not tax you while you are wounded.” He rose, dripping with trails of clear water, and allowed his hands to linger over the Dwarf’s beard for one last moment. Leaning in close, he whispered sweetly, “Elves are a patient race. I will wait until you have regained your strength.” He planted a gossamer kiss on the Gimli’s forehead, sending shivers down the Dwarf’s spine. “Until then, perhaps we should rejoin our brothers in arms at the fortress.” 

“Aye,” he answered, cursing the now-insistent ache between his legs. Legolas helped him gently to his feet. “I hope it’s a speedy recovery,” he added with a lascivious grin. The Elf only smiled.


End file.
